2024.09.09: September's Court
A conference room high above New Albion's streets. It requires its own elevator. When the doors open, the passengers are released into a sort of plush Deco-Industrial smoking lounge. There is a smallish auburn-haired woman seated in a chair facing the lift doors, the arrangement of furniture in the room indicating that she is part hostess and part security. She rises as the other Kindred within city limits begin to arrive. Mr. Blackett sweeps into the room in all his primness. And takes a seat nodding to the woman across the way with a smile. He is giving an air that he is here to support her, but has no agenda beyond. Sheridan arrives wearing a nice suit and tie, polished shoes. Which, given his age of embrace, make him look like a teenager at a wedding/sentencing/prom. He fidgets, chewing on his lip like an apprentice waiting for a job interview. A red-haired, pale skinned, beautiful woman with a petite build wearing a fancy evening gown enters the room and takes a seat, oddly at ease for a stranger who has only just arrived in town Marcus enters quietly, eyes scanning the room before nodding, first to the woman across the way, and then to Blackett, who, upon catching his eye, he strides towards in greeting. The doors are heavily barred, but the security is unusual tonight. The standard array of suits and sunglasses are conspicuously absent. Instead, there is a single person leaning on the side of the door. It is a man in a long duster. He seemed rather annoyed at his presence, but a quiet aura of menace is unmistakable. Meanwhile, Stephen and Caius Gordon are having yet another of their painfully apparent spats. The bemused grin of Kenna Baird only cemented that quiet theory. The Prince was likely in the back. Ideally, anyway. The tall gentleman is nodded to. Sheridan is beamed at. Customer Service Charm plus a sort of grace that has been out of fashion for a century or more. The flame-colored silk dress and its beaded overdress, the fine bronze silk veil pinned over her hair, the opal and pearl jewelry - she really looks like someone that itches the back of Sheridan's mind. Someone famous. Or someone from a painting. "Sheridan. So glad you could join us." The strange woman is dropped the slightest curtsey. The picking up of her skirts reveals that the Keeper is not wearing shoes. At all. It was a handful of decades (centuries) out of style, and yet Cerriphan had arrived in some form of charm and presence for once in her meager existence while inhabiting the city. Pressed and cleaned and in her best dress, though of course she had the same sort of deranged look about her to any who greeted or attempted to maintain conversation. She was busy enjoying the sights. “I thought it was best to attend a Prince when a court is called, Miss. I didn’t realize my reputation preceded itself.” Of course he did - he didn’t go to the Blue Devil on a whim - but it seems the right thing to say. He’s mostly focused on her, trying to place the image to the catalogue of thoughts gathered and accumulated. "Do my nice clothes make look so strange? Doris asks as she moves to quietly greet the others. “Orphelia... and myriad Rossettis...” Sheridan mutters. A bronze-gloved hand lightly brushes the shoulder of the gentleman who had seated himself next to her. "Mister Antoninus, Miss d'Galdis. Good to see you both." Warm but professional. A woman at work. "It is feeling as if forever and a day since seeing your face," she said, knowing well they'd just seen each other, "And the Lion! What a sight! I am happy to being here, this time. At this very time, I am meaning," There's a vague sort of fuss to the way she wiggled in her clothing. Marcus nods, his voice controlled. "Keeper Ashview, it is always a pleasure." "I am honored you chose your best dress to grace our presence, Miss d'Galdis." Then turning to Cerri "And Ms. d'Galdis, what a sight yourself." A warm smile for the friendly Malkavian. He strides towards Blackett, smiling, with his hand out to shake. "Mr. Blackett, it's good to see you! How are you?" A light touch on the gentleman identified as Marcus Antoninus' arm and she is off to greet the other ginger woman. "Fine my friend, I hope we do not mind a tourist such as myself visiting this court." Blackett speaks to Marcus, but in a volume obvious intended to be overheard by the Prince. "Not at all. It would not be the same without you, mon ami." Marcus replies. Meanwhile, to Veronica: "Welcome to New Albion, my lady. As is pleases His Majesty the Prince, I am Keeper of Elysium. If I am pleasing myself, I am Doris Ashview, proprietor of the Blue Devil piano bar. What brings you to our little outpost?" Veronica smiles warmly and nods “Oh, you know, just a bit of business involving a client and a painting he was interested in. It’s the kind of thing that calls for a personal touch, as I’m sure you can well imagine.” "Ah. Of course. Some things must be managed in person." A faint upnod of understanding. “I’ve only just arrived in town and thought that this would be the best way to make the necessary introductions in the name of good form, of course. I’m Veronica, Veronica Black, at your service.” "At yours and your family's." A reflexive reply. "Art dealers are rare here. I did not know we had anything outside of His Majesty's collection worth a tinker's damn." “Oh, I maintain a collection of paintings and sculptures to suit all tastes and decorating styles. she pulls a business card from her clutch Black Box Galleries, again, at your service.” The business card disappears into the lefthand glove. Her pockets are currently lounging primly in a club chair halfway across the room. A different one is produced from a case tucked into her right. It reads: Doris Valeria Ashview Director, Human Resources Gordon Industries. The logo inlaid in the lobby floor all those floors below is embossed into the card. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Ashview.” "Well, I work far harder than I should to be the devil rather than the angel on one's shoulder, but even the most unrepentant sinner needs a shower every now and then." There is a note of self-mockery in the response. Elsewhere, Sheridan looks... honestly, if he were a mortal you’d figure he’d be sweating. The usual composure and ease are not evident. He looks like he needs the damn toilet. One of his legs even appears to be shaking a little, and his fingers are gripping his palms so tight his knuckles have turned white. "Are you well, Mr. Sheridan?" Marcus asks. Eyes flick to Marcus. “Mmmhmm. Hmm.” A nod. A moment to focus. “Fi... fine. Thank you. Mr Antoninus. Hope you’re all clean after our recent excursion. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” Weirdly, this seems to relax him. The grip loosens. There is a chuckle at Sheridan's comment. "Well even with a natural talent, one must still make an effort." There is no trace of offense or malice in his voice as he turns back towards Blackett and the newly-introduced Ms. Black, extending his hand towards her. "Mr. Antoninus, also from Montreal on a rather lengthy holiday." His tone is friendly, and the voice is deep and rich, the accent from the American southeast. Back with Veronica, there is a slight air of distraction about Doris every now and then, as if the ambient conversational noise is making it hard for her to hear the person in front of her. "The pleasure is mine, I am certain. If you will excuse me?" As her distraction came apparent, the heavy doors opened slightly, and a suit appeared, looking to Doris expectingly. Caius squinted at this display, and retunred focus to his already flustered conversation. “Of course, although there is another, more...sensitive matter relating to my presence here that I think it only proper to discuss, when you have a moment, naturally.” pleasant smile. "I shall be at your disposal as soon as duty permits, Miss Black." She pads back towards the gentleman in the chair, then leans down to whisper in his ear. The british gentleman, in his RP accent cants his head a moment as though he was listening to something unheard. "Miss Black, half of a noble name. " he gives a slight smile and extends a hand "Mr. Blackett, Keeper of Elysium from Montreal, on a somewhat extended holiday here." Veronica Black09/10/2018 takes the offered hand (Veronica herself speaks with an English accent) “Charmed. Keeper of Elysium, you say? I simply MUST pay a visit. I always enjoy taking in the sights of a new city.” "Oh you would be more than welcome, the Chalet sits atop Mount Royal, and has a beautiful look over the city... just" he pauses, "Do not tell the locals their mountain is but a hill, they get quite cross at that notion" “I’ll be sure to catch a cab out that way as soon as I’m settled in.” smiles warmly. “Oh God is arf the room English?” Sheridan mutters quietly. In a very non-RP English accent. His eyes are now practically rooted to his shoes. Veronica laughs “That sounds like a glass half full situation to me, darling.” "I am afraid that would be a very long cab ride, but do as you will." Blackett smiles warmly "I would recommend a flight if possible. Montreal, where I am keeper, is about 2500km from here you see. I am Visiting Keeper Ashview you see. I’m still not too sure of where everything is quite yet. Apart from my hotel room and a few bellboys, I’m quite in the dark on local geography.” “I’ll be sure to keep my passport handy then.” Veronica quips. "Regardless, if you make it up there I will be happy to show you about" “Well, I have a spot of business to attend to here before I can think of traveling, but who knows? Maybe sometime in the near future I’ll have a client in Montreal and I’ll have a chance to head there and make a killing.” Meanwhile, with the Malkavians: "Is there some dread to coming from you, Sheri-friend? Whatever is being the matter? Would you liking to sitting down and being friendly faces with kin instead?" Cerriphan offered ever-so-sweetly to Gavin, her body turning toward him in a half-blocking motion from the rest of the room. Sheridan gives an attempt at a composed smile to Veronica, an attempt to be sociable. But for some reason, right now, it’s like someone trying to keep their composure when needing to sprint to escape. His simulation of breath judders a little at Cerriphan’s suggestion, and he nods, focusing on... just focusing. “Yes,” he says to her. “Please. Cerriphan. Thank you.” The woman offered a barely exposed hand, only the wrists showing, to the miserable man politely. "To soothing and speaking of better things, yes, coming along to seating at tables and enjoying the company of family. As it should being at Court, striding business, yes?" Sheridan nods, and takes Cerriphan’s hand. And again, this direct focus seems to help. “I’m... always happy to talk. About anything. Name a subject. Music. Art. Whatever.” There is a very sincere smile with pleading, screaming eyes. "I am enjoying music!" There was something. She was leading him to a table for them to be seated and take a moment to chat. Of all people, Cerriphan understood the need. "Do you having a favorites from these modern ages or preferring others?" “Bowie. David Bowie. Diamond Dogs. Hunky Dory. Uh... Fleetwood Mac. Uhm... is that modern? Or is that too old?” "Those are modern enough for mine tastes," she fussed slightly, nodding, "I am liking some, heavy-metal things? Sometimes alternative strangeness. Oh, you would liking... a Florence and the Machine, maybe? I am listening to that. Sometimes, on the radio." And Cerriphan would babble on and on for as long as he wished, of course. “She’s great. Great. Heavy metal. What heavy metal? Something loud.” His eyes water. “Uh... do you... like Belgium?” He just seems to be going in to word soup. "Belgium.. the country..." She slowly ventured awkwardly. "Belgium is a place I am never having going, though close, very close." Marcus is quietly watching the two Malkavians as they converse together - clearly seeing Gavin's discomfiture growing rapidly as the evening progresses. “Where? France? Plucky little Luxembourg? Netherlands? I was born in Southampton. It’s not far. Ferry goes there now. Not when I was born.” Sheridan’s pace of questions gradually slows down, until it’s more or less normal. Cerriphan is definitely helping. "More east," she hummed, hands folding on the table as she tried to slow the line of answers to stifle his line of questions as well. She looked up at the start of the Court official, smiling at Doris and the Prince. Keeper Ashview has been closeted in the Prince's office for almost an uncomfortable length of time. Almost. Then the doors open. There is the slightest and most awkward of pauses, as if a moment of routine protocol is somehow not so routine... The suits follow her to fan outward in a grand display. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the Glorious Court of Prince Marcel Gordon... May you all be seated in the room behind us... And may you take a moment to greet with the Seneschal of New Albion, Miss Doris Ashview." Marcus stands at attention as the Crown enters - arching one eye at the ascension to the position of Seneschal of Ms. Ashview The newly-appointed (and still barefoot) Seneschal inclines her head slightly. She is a bright spot of color in a sea of dark suits. "Let this be a warning to the rest of you to avoid appearing too competent." "It can be a bother..." Blackett says simply "Congratulation Seneschal Ashview." "Congratulations indeed, Seneschal Ashview." Gordon sits silently at the head of a long table, his brilliant blue orbits assessing everyone's reactions to the news as they take their seats. "Please, please, welcome." Cerriphan is appeased, but does not verbally congratulate-- she merely does a cute little wave with her fingers. "Rí túaithe Gordon honors me with his confidence," Doris offers in response to the congratulations. "But yes, please...let us be seated. There is much to discuss." She, of course, waits until such time as the Prince is seated, as is socially appropriate. Marcus stands near his chosen seat, eyes still scanning the room quietly, taking in every detail. He waits for both the Prince and the newly-titled Seneschal to take their places. The Prince is seated. He begins with a glance around the room. "We few in the Midnight Court are here because we are careful. Cunning. And above all: Aware of our fragile place in the world. I want you all to consider, among yourselves, for just a moment, what would give me cause of fear in my city. My walls are high, my defenders many... And of course, my Court is powerful." he provides a kind bow of his head to Ashview. "What... Could give me fear?" Cerriphan wriggled her lips mildly, brows scrunching up besides. Unsure of whether or not to speak up-- the question. Rhetorical? Many answers to many fears. She leaned back mildly in her chair and politely pressed her little digits together in a contemplative manner. “Well, there’s always the notion that eventually, those in power have nothing to fear save the loss of said power.” The neonate, Marcus, is sitting quietly, watching the proceedings somewhat quizzically. Gordon locks eyes with a unfamilar face... He smirks at that, though. The trappings of childehood. "... No. The fear I carry lies in something far more beastial." he nods to someone on his right... And a series of television screens illuminate. The scene is a grisly one. Elongated tends flayed out to extend what appears to be a human eye... This... Thing... Is peeking out from a sewer grate, staring at several persons of interest. Dozens of these eyes appear to be recorded all over the southern New Albion locales. "I fear wasting a war on good people I disagree with rather than on monsters." "Disunity, as it were, and an accordant dilution of effort?" He nods, only once. Quietly: "Are we not discussing the...whatever that is in the sewers?" He looks to her. "... That 'thing' is the result of experimentation on 36 missing persons around the docks. And thanks to the heroism of a few key Kindred... Well, the Brujah avoided adding a trusted Ghoul to that list." Marcus: "That thing is what was being ... built at the facility we cleared in the Riverwalk." “You have....sewer mutants?” Veronica asks. He nods at Marcus Antoninus. "The Sabbat have decided that our Kine are fair game... And nearly killed our Ghouls." he looks to Ashview. "Does this suffice as a breach?" Doris: "You are the one with the ear of a member of the Council, rí túaithe, not I." Still quietly. "I consider it, at the very least, dreadful manners." Gordon nods. "Then we must offer a reply." he goes quiet, a chance for some to give their opinions. "How strong a reply would you consider appropriate?" Asks Marcus quietly. "We call their bluff,” Doris replies. “They think themselves unobserved, for the most part. I do not know offhand the appropriate title of the representative of the Sword to whom we would appeal, along with an appeal to the Council, stating that we believe there are either rogue agents or deliberate saboteurs within our borders seeking to undermine the Accords. Then, when they are predictable disavowed to save face, we do what is necessary." There is an unpleasant air of finality in the little Siren's voice. “Well, it would seem that my arrival is most fortuitous,” says Veronica. “I happen to be in the business of what is necessary.” Marcus: "And if they are not disavowed - or if the Sword's representatives dither - what then?" It isn't a challenge - but a clarification of the prospective plan 'B'. Doris: "Then we are at war." Veronica sighs. “How do I keep finding myself in these situations....?” Marcus: "What situations are those, Ms. Black." “Oh, you know. Things that go bump in the night “bumping” in to one another and the situation getting.....messy... Last time I got involved in something like this it was in OHIO of all places.” The Seneschal studies the ceiling for a few moments. Her expression suggests that perhaps she might be counting to some unspecified number. Her overall accent has been that of the southwestern portion of the aforementioned state, simply lacking the desperately annoying "D'whut?" or more passive-aggressive "Please?" verbal inflections. Gordon's face was cold. Eyes dead. He simply waited. Kenna, however, was already looking for someone to just give her an excuse. “It was a few years ago. A little conflict with the Sabbat that I was hired to lend my talents to and aid in resolving. I wouldn’t suggest you ever go to this filthy little burg called “Dayton.” Ugh....the name still tastes bitter on my tongue. You can’t find a decent cosmopolitan in the entire city.” Doris: "So once your 'delicate' business is concluded, Miss Black, are you declaring yourself in?" “That’s a good question I suppose,” Veronica answers. “Since we’re discussing such things I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring it up and let the masks fall away. I came to this city to kill a man. A former Bratva who left with more knowledge than was healthy, and I’ve been promised a substantial sum to see that he takes his secrets to the grave, and help him get there with a certain haste. Normally it’s the kind of thing they’d handle themselves, but due to certain familiarities they chose to enlist an outside contractor as it were.” The Prince: "And your Clan, Ms. Black?" “I haven’t finalized arrangements yet, I wanted to make my presence known first and make sure that I may ply my trade. I am of Clan Toreador.” "Naturally." Kenna chimes in, while Gordon nods. First to her, and then to Ashview. “Like I said, I haven’t officially taken the job yet.” Veronica turns to Mr. Gordon. “I’d rather not meet the Prince that doesn’t mind any old fang showing up and dropping bodies.” The Prince: "I am not familiar with a Bratva in my city that fits that bill, so if nothing else you may bring me information prior to the informing of a decision. I alone have mastery over the 6th tradition, and I will not have it broken without justifiction." Veronica: “Oh he’s not one of ours, this is strictly mortal business.” The is the faintest inclination of the Seneschal's head in acknowledgement. Then an equally faint cough. However, now is not the time to discuss the finer points of Elysium-keeping. Veronica Black turns to Doris I know I may not have been entirely forthcoming with you, Ms. Ashview, but due to the delicate nature of my vocation it makes it a somewhat difficult topic to get to in polite conversation. It was easier to start with the art dealing.” Doris: "We all have our secrets, Miss Black." Nothing ominous in that statement or tone. Gordon raises another brow at that, but simply glides over it with an idle "Forward the person's file to Doris, she will know if they are on my payroll. If they are not, what you do with them is certainly your business." Veronica: “Of course. My client provided me with an extensive dossier. I don’t have anything else lined up after this, so I would be available should you need someone of my particular talents. Or if you just want to do some decorating. I have some wonderful pieces in the Florentine style available.” Doris: "I would also like to bring Gavin Sheridan of the Clan of the Moon to your attention, rí túaithe. He has meet with Doctor Pendleton and all is in order. I shall have a report about his adventures with Mister Antoninus and Miss d'Galdis in the sewers on your desk shortly." The Prince nods. "The story has reached me already, and I am very fortunate to hear that he is already being of use to the Camarilla here." he frowns for a moment in thought. "I would hope he could arrive for presentation, but I understand we live in busy times." Cerriphan gestured mildly to her compatriot, nervous as they were, "Sheri-friend and I were having time, a good time to seeing what is lurking beneath. And the lack of rats is speaking deep volumes. The report to coming soon, yes." She rattled off, then smiled sadly. "Is there any additional business before the court?" With the answer at a negative, the evening descended into the boring routine of court assignments.Category:Logs